


Masquerade

by machtaholic (cinderella81)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Collars, First Time, Halloween, Kilts, M/M, Piercings, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/pseuds/machtaholic
Summary: Eliot forgoes his normal Halloween plans to venture back to one of his old haunts - Contempt at the Delancey, one of his favorite goth clubs.  While there he runs into a VERY familiar face(A blatant excuse for Q with piercings, a collar and a kilt)





	Masquerade

Eliot adjusted his tie, checked the pocket of his coat to make sure his invite was still in the inside pocket, then checked to make sure the mask he wore wasn’t messing up his hair before he stepped out of the alley and made his way down the street towards his destination for the evening.

Just over the Williamsburg Bridge, set between two slightly run down apartment buildings, was The Delancey. It was the place to be if you knew the right people to get you in for those special, secret parties that were always rumored to occur there.

Eliot had politely declined Margo’s invitation to use the portal to London in favor of something … different. Different, yet so familiar. The flyer had magically appeared between the pages of one of his favorite books and as soon as Eliot had that orange slip of paper between his fingers, Eliot knew exactly where he would be at the end of October.

All Hallow’s Eve. Normally Eliot would stay at Brakebills to drink himself stupid and find somebody cute to warm his bed. 

This year was different.

Eliot smoothed down his coat as he got closer to The Delancey. The suit had been tucked in a box under his bed and a quick cleaning spell had it looking like new. The aubergine color was subtle enough to fit theme, yet enough to make Eliot stand out. 

The man at the door of The Delancey directed him down to the basement, where Eliot approached another door guarded by a woman dressed in a high necked black Victorian gown wearing a red eye mask.

“Welcome back to Contempt, Lord Waugh,” the woman said. “I’d know that suit anywhere, even with that silly silver eye mask.”

“Lady Wynter,” Eliot replied as he took her hand in his, kissing it chastely. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”

“Long time no see,” Wynter said. “Where you have you been?”

“Here and there,” Eliot said, passing his invitation over to Wynter with a smile.

“You’ve been missed,” Wynter said. “Quite a few people in there will be very happy to see you.”

Eliot smiled as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Wynter’s cheek. “Any new faces in there?”

“All the new faces,” Wynter said. “New people got invites, oldies like you got invites -”

“I beg your pardon: oldies?” Eliot said.

“Apologies, Lord Waugh,” Wynter said, her eyes twinkling under her mask as she opened the door to let Eliot into Contempt. “I’m sure you’ll recognize a few faces in there.”

“I’m sure,” Eliot said, brushing past Wynter into the club.

Contempt at The Delancey was already filled with patrons, music blasting from the speakers. Red walls and couches were set off by the black floor as well as the black tables and chairs that were sprinkled throughout the club. A few of the patrons turned when Eliot entered and Eliot practically preened under the admiring glances he received.

Eliot nodded to those half covered faces he thought he recognized as he made his way over to the bar to get himself a drink.

The mood of the club was both jubilant and otherworldly, the music pulsing through the club matching the tempo of Eliot’s steps as he strode through the club. It was electric being back at Contempt. Eliot felt almost euphoric as he reached the bar and ordered a bourbon.

“Lord Waugh,” the bartender said as he passed Eliot the glass.

“Cedar,” Eliot said, nodding at the man as he reached for his wallet.

“On the house tonight,” Cedar said, “welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Eliot replied, giving Cedar a warm smile before turning to watch the crowd.

Wynter had been correct when she said that a lot of people had received invites. Eliot may have been out of the scene for a while, while he’d spotted a few familiar forms, there were far more new than old.

Eliot could feel people assessing him as he watched the small crowd of people out on the makeshift dance floor. Some dressed in formal gothic, some dressed in punk gothic, bodies pressed against each other as the music seemed to lower everyone’s inhibitions, pushing people together.

But past the throng of people, on the fringes of the crowds, Eliot caught sight of a flash of hair that made him freeze. He set his empty glass down on the bar and slowly made he way around the club; he nodded and smiled at those who recognized him, but his focus was on that flash of hair.

Eliot maneuvered around a group of girls in deep discussion about two of their favorite actors and how ‘they’re totally dating and sharing clothes’, then stopped as he caught sight of a very familiar ass covered by a bulky black utilikilt. 

Eliot would know that ass anywhere.

From the back, Eliot saw black combat boots, a black utilikilt that hit below the knees and a sleeveless almost sheer black t-shirt. Brown hair fell in messy waves against the figure’s shoulders and Eliot’s fingers itched to touch it.

He closed the space between them, then leaned down and whispered into the man’s ear.

“I’d know that ass anywhere, Q.” Eliot kept his hands to himself, but blew softly in Quentin’s ear as he spoke.

Quentin spun around to face Eliot, and Eliot barely resisted the urge to gasp. Quentin wore a dark purple eye mask, eye holes cut wide so as not to catch on the silver hoop in his left eyebrow. Quentin’s eyes were lined in kohl and his lips were a pale pink, which only served to bring attention to the lip piercing in the center of Quentin’s bottom lip. As Eliot’s eyes traveled down he saw the leather collar around Quentin’s neck and Eliot itched to slip his fingers into the D-ring hanging from the collar and pull Quentin in for a kiss.

“El -”

“It’s Lord Waugh here,” Eliot said before Quentin could finish.

“Lord Waugh,” Quentin said. “I didn’t know -”

“Neither did I,” Eliot replied. “You look stunning.”

“S-so do you,” Quentin murmured. “This look suits you.”

“You should wear kilts more often,” Eliot said with a smile.

“You two found each other, good!”

Eliot glanced over Quentin’s shoulder to see Wynter smiling at them.

“Lady Wynter,” Eliot said. “Clarification?”

“You and Mr. Coldwater are both oldies, but you two never seemed to be here at the same time,” Wynter said. “I always thought you two should meet, that you’d get along.”

“Ah,” Eliot said. “Funny enough, we became acquainted outside Contempt.”

“So you do know each other,” Wynter said.

“Mmmhmm,” Eliot hummed. “I would, however, like to get to know this new, or rather old side of Mr. Coldwater.”

“I guess I’ll leave you two alone then,” Wynter said, giving the two men a wink and a little curtsy before disappearing back into the crowds.

The music changed, from thumping techno to something dark and appropriately gothic. The opening notes of ‘Cry Little Sister’ by Gerard McMahon filled Contempt and Eliot smiled.

“Dance with me, Q?” Eliot asked.

“I would love to, Lord Waugh,” Quentin whispered.

Eliot gave into the urge he’d been fighting, tucked two fingers into the D-ring hanging from Quentin’s collar and tugged Quentin towards the dancefloor. Once there, Eliot pulled Quentin close, resting a hand on Quentin’s lower back as he began to lead the two of them around the dancefloor.

“Know how to tango, Mr. Coldwater?” Eliot asked as he pulled Quentin close.

“I know how to Argentine Tango, Lord Waugh,” Quentin replied with a smile.

“Perfect.”

The music swelled as Eliot led Quentin around the dancefloor. Most of the other patrons filtered away, standing on the edge to watch the two of them dance; Eliot didn’t notice, his entire world was filled with Quentin. It seemed as though the club disappeared and Eliot was lost in Quentin’s eyes.

Eliot could practically feel the lust, the want, the abject need growing between the two of them as the dance continued. It took every ounce of Eliot’s self control to keep from slipping a hand under Quentin’s kilt to see if he was going regimental - but the possessive part of him intervened; what Quentin had underneath that kilt was for Eliot and Eliot alone.

The loud applause from all the other patrons jolted Eliot out of his reverie and he reached out to catch Quentin, who’d jumped and almost fell over.

“We’re getting out of here,” Eliot said, not waiting for Quentin to respond before wrapping an arm around Quentin’s shoulders, tucking Quenting against his side and pushing through the crowds towards the exit.

Eliot could see his breath as he and Quentin reached the street and he tucked Quentin tighter against his side to keep out the cold.

“Eliot,” Quentin whispered.

“Not out here either,” Eliot said. “Wait till we’re back at Brakebills - it won’t be long, I set up a portal around the corner.”

“You don’t find this weird?” Quentin asked.

“Nope,” Eliot as as they turned the corner and reached the door Eliot had set as the portal. “I think it was fate.”

Eliot released his hold on Quentin, performed a few gestures, then tugged Quentin through the door into the Physical Kids’ Cottage … 

And ran right Margo.

“Wow El, this is a look I haven’t seen in a wh - Q?” Margo stopped and stared at Quentin.

“We’ll talk about it later, Margo,” Eliot said.

“Much later,” Quentin said.

“Okay, but don’t think I’m forgetting about this!” Margo shouted as Eliot pushed past her, practically dragging Quentin with him. “We’re going to talk about your wardrobe, Q! And don’t think I didn’t see those piercings!”

“I think I should be scared,” Quentin said once he and Eliot were safe in Eliot’s room.

“I’ll protect you,” Eliot murmured, guiding Quentin over to the bed.

“You’d better,” Quentin said.

“Although I have to admit, you look stunning like this,” Eliot said. “Should leave those piercings in - show the rest of the students what they’re missing.”

“Missing?” Quentin said.

“Yeah,” Eliot said, giving Quentin a gentle shove so Quentin fell back on the bed. “Like I’m letting anyone get their hands on you now. You’re mine.”

“Possessive,” Quentin said, sitting up in his elbows to watch Eliot.

“I am,” Eliot replied as he slipped out of his shoes and tossed his coat in the corner.

“I like it,” Quentin whispered.

“Hoped you would,” Eliot said as he removed his vest and undid his tie.

“Really do.” Quentin started to sit up some more, but Eliot stopped him.

“Let me,” Eliot murmured, kneeling at the edge of the bed. First one boot, then the other, then the socks. Eliot tossed the items aside, then gently massaged Quentin’s calves.

“El,” Quentin breathed.

“Let me take care of you,” Eliot said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to first one knee then the other.

“Isn’t this moving fast?” Quentin whispered. 

“I think the dance tonight was a culmination, the proverbial climax of all the sexual tension between the two of us,” Eliot said. “There’s been something between us since the day you stumbled out of those bushes.”

“There has,” Quentin agreed, shimmying out of his shirt and tossing it in the pile with Eliot clothes.

Eliot caught Quentin’s hands as he was moving to remove his collar.

“Leave it,” Eliot whispered, running his hands down Quentin’s chest. “Leave it.”

“For you,” Quentin said.

Eliot hummed and leaned down, pressing a few sweet kisses to Quentin’s stomach as he allowed a hand to slip under Quentin’s kilt, inching its way up Quentin’s thigh. He groaned softly when he realized that Quentin had indeed gone regimental under the kilt.

“You’re killing me, Q,” Eliot whispered.

“Not quite,” Quentin said.

“No, not quite, but I’m so close to coming just from the sight of you like this,” Eliot said. He pressed one more kiss to Quentin’s stomach before he stepped back and finished stripping, the clothes ending up with the rest in the corner of the room.

“Don’t come just yet,” Quentin said. 

Eliot bit his lip as he watched Quentin tug the kilt up around his waist, freeing his already leaking cock.

“Wouldn’t dream of coming yet,” Eliot said as he climbed onto the bed. “Want to come with you inside me.”

“Me inside -” Quentin gasped as Eliot straddled his thighs.

“Mmmhmm,” Eliot hummed as he settled over Quentin’s thighs and leaned forward, claiming Quentin’s lips in a passionate kiss. Quentin’s lips tasted like chocolate and bourbon and Eliot could almost get lost in the taste … but his cock twitched and Eliot broke the kiss with a sigh.

“Why?”

Eliot chuckled at the slightly dazed expression on Quentin’s face. “Why did I stop?” He half laid across Quentin as he rummaged in his nightstand for lube and a condom. “For this.”

“Oh,” Quentin whispered.

“I feel like we’ve been moving towards this,” Eliot said as he squeezed a bit of lube onto his fingers, leaned back and began to stretch himself.

“For a while now.” Quentin’s voice was rough with need as he reached for Eliot needily.

Eliot hummed and nodded as he continued to stretch himself. He knew neither of them would last long once Quentin was inside him; it took every ounce of Eliot’s self control to keep from coming at the mere sight of Quentin with that kilt wrapped around his waist, collar around his neck, face flushed with need … 

“Almost there, Q,” Eliot breathed. He grabbed the condom off the bed, opened it and gently rolled it down over Quentin’s cock.

“Fuck El,” Quentin groaned.

“That’s the plan,” Eliot replied, winking at Quentin as he scooted forward a bit, lifted himself himself up and then ever so slowly lowered himself down onto Quentin’s cock. He took one of Quentin’s hands in his as he tightened himself around Quentin’s cock and gave a little thrust, smiling when Quentin keened softly.

“Eliot.” Quentin’s other hand grabbed onto Eliot’s hip, squeezing tight as Eliot thrust again.

“Not going to last too long,” Eliot admitted breathlessly.

“Same,” Quentin said.

Eliot smiled down at Quentin as he moved their twined hands to Eliot’s cock, urging Quentin to stroke him, trying to match the almost frantic rhythm of Eliot’s thrusts on Quentin’s cock.

Neither of them lasted long, and they both came with a shout, Eliot making a mess all over their hands and Quentin’s kilt and stomach.

Eliot carefully lifted himself off Quentin’s cock with a slight wince, then gave a low groan when he caught Quentin licking his hand clean.

Eliot rolled off Quentin and reached for a tissue to clean his hand, catching the kilt sailing across the room out of the corner of his eye. He tossed the tissue towards the trashcan and rolled back onto his side facing Quentin to see Quentin setting the collar on the nightstand.

“Fucking menace, Mr. Coldwater,” Eliot said as he wrapped an arm around Quentin and pulled him close.

“You like it, Lord Waugh,” Quentin countered, tucking his head under Eliot’s chin and pressing a sleeping kiss to Eliot’s chest.

“I really do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I picture Eliot wearing [this](https://www.outfittrends.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/some-funkiness.jpg)
> 
> I picture Quentin wearing [this](http://www.thedarkstore.com/14262-thickbox_square_zen/berserk-black-kilt.jpg)


End file.
